Of Snapshots and Studying
by riverhead
Summary: "If Archie was the sun, Jughead was her moon and stars. And now came the eternal age of night." Bughead. Not yet complete because I like the little 90-chapter drabble fics and apparently now I'm writing one.
1. Chapter 1

**a/n: WIP - just a short little drabble that I will be updating. Not entirely happy with how this turned out, but I had a spare ten minutes on hand in between studying.**

They're both studying in her room, with him on the window-seat and her on the bed.

The pastel of her room contrasts sharply with his attire, Betty thinks. And she likes it.  
She likes him.

Jughead is her one selfish desire. He is the one she doesn't have to be perfect around, the one she can tell anything to. He is her confiadant, her partner-in-crime, and her happily ever after, all in one. Even when they were little, Jughead always tried to protect her in a way that Archie didn't. She didn't notice it because Archie's gestures were always so big, they they drowned out his more subtle, smarter gestures.

But now? She's making up for lost time.

If Archie was the sun, Jughead was the moon and the stars.

And now comes the age of night.

(Oh, how she loves the darkness because of how brightly he shines)

Her eyes flick down to the path of floor where they first kissed. She wanted to frame it, to cordon it off and charge people money to see it. Because, by God, Jughead was a piece of the finest art there was. He deserved entire museums, entire galaxies devoted to him. And where he had kissed her, was a rare meteorlogical event - a shooting star, burning so bright she's dazed.

She smiles, lost in her own thoughts.

Jughead notices this, notices where she's looking, and it sends his heart afflutter in ways that he would never tell a single soul.

 **a/n: reviews are much appreciated x**


	2. Chapter 2

**a/n: hi y'all - feel free to drop in my inbox at any time if you want advice, want to chat, or want to rant x**

"Come on, Juggie," Betty uses the puppy eyes.

Jughead both hates and loves the puppy yes.

Puppy eyes gets her what she wants. Jughead is secretly convinced that she uses actual magic to pull it off, because, dammit, he's Jughead Jones the Third, and he will be damned before he falls prey to a look from a girl.

But unfortunately, Betty is a goddess.

"Please?" Her lips, soft and pink and sweet as candy floss (trust him, he's tried), quiver whilst she speaks.

And of course, he's powerless to give in, relenting with a small smile.

She beams, dragging him to the nearest photo booth.

Twenty minutes and two strips of romantic photos later, they're out and he wants to win her a giant stuffed panda, because girls apparently like that kind of thing.

Not that he's really into girls. He's never been properly in love before Betty, never felt the entire all-consuming need to protect he like he does with her (he hypothesises that he's never had this much to lose, never had the threat of actual death looming over his loved ones like he does right now). But maybe, just maybe, it's just Betty. And he wants to win her that giant stuffed panda.

Knowing that perhaps brute physical strength is not his forte, he heads over to the ball-throwing stall.

Of course it takes him absolutely ages and a ridiculous number of tries, but its worth it to see the smile on Betty's face as he hands over 'Winston Smith the Seventy-Fourth', as she affectionately dubs him. It was almost too bright and heavenly to look at, a sight not intended for his mortal eyes.

All too soon, however, the evening draws to a close, and the quick kisses take a desperate undertone as they will the night to stay a little longer, to keep the magic alive and as prevalent before the dawn breaks and they return to the relative normalcy of their everyday lives.

He walks her home in the dark, holding onto Winston for her, her arm linked in the crook of his, two interlocked shadows becoming one under the far-reaching, harsh glow of the street lamps.

They head up the path, up past the tree, and then he kisses her goodnight on the porch.

It's passionate and fiery, an expression of the things he can't say, and by Jove, if Jughead Jones were as eloquent speaking as he was with his words, he could've been the king of the universe. It takes both of their breath away, its raw and real, and they kiss like this is the last chance they will ever get, the last drop, the last sip, the last crumb of the last meal that they will ever get.

They both finally understand how love conquers and consumes and this, _oh this_ , is a feeling they both never ever want to let go.

 **a/n: reviews much appreciated x**

 **also i do requests!**


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